


trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

by amorias



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/M, Fix-It, Post-Canon, Spitfire - Freeform, implied bluepulse, some implied unrequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorias/pseuds/amorias
Summary: The fact that Wally's feet feel like they're vibrating means nothing and time is feeling too slow around him just because his brain is messed up. “You've got the wrong guy,” he says, twisting his arm from Dick's grasp. He looks at him, almost sadly, and shakes his head. “I'm no Flash.”





	trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

The sun is red today, and Wally is speaking in a voice that is not his own, in a body that can't be his, because surely he is dead.

 

Bart Allen is only 15.

He is only 15, and he has scars worse than Jaime can imagine, physical ones that shouldn't be there because of his speed healing ability, but are because of the inhibitor collars they stuck there when he was in the future. In the bad future, the one they crashed, the one where he's on mode and evil and not in control of himself. The short stint he had as the Reach's puppet where they assigned words and actions to him was enough of that, and it still sends shivers down his spine a year and a half later. A year and a half later, and he can finally run his hands over the scars crisscrossing Bart's ribs, arms, hipbones, and watch the character of Impulse, Kid Flash, crumble under his fingers with each passing imperfection in skin.

Scars can heal, eventually, but they're only physical reminders of the mental ones that the Reach, that the future, that _Jaime_ left on his mind, and now there were things even in the past that Bart could not control and could not anticipate, and cracked him down even further. He is over the trauma of being called Kid Flash, a year and a half later, but he still cries at night and stares at the statue in the memorial garden when he thinks no one is around to see.

 

Wally can't remember what he doesn't remember. There were moments that he vaguely can recollect, that seem more like a dream than anything else, like falling into existence in the middle of the desert, or during a mission where someone else is wearing his costume and there's a vague recollection that it looks out of place for the girl next to him to be wearing orange and black, or calling out someone's name, because it hurts to run so much in oblivion.

 

“Sonic boom activity has been detected in Keystone City,” Batgirl says, voice calculating, eyes distracted by the large screen hovering above her and illuminating her face.

_I detect high amounts of speed activity in the area,_ the scarab whispers into Jaime's brain. _Probability of it being the Flash, 87%._

“What kind of percentage is that?” Jaime mutters back, making a face.

_I am suggesting the remaining 13% should be investigated, Jaime Reyes._

“Should we check it out?” Beast Boy asks.

“No, we have other things to worry about. There have been several money laundering fronts put up around the country, and the League worries it could be connected to the Light. Me, Aqualad, and Beast Boy will be Alpha. Blue, Tigress, and Kid Flash will be Beta.”

_This team assignment can be handled by just the Kid Flash and the Tigress. We should pursue the speed signature in Keystone City._

“Shut up,” he hisses, punctuating each word, and he realizes everyone is looking at him, and he hunches up his shoulders a little bit around his face. “Sorry, scarab,” he mutters, gesturing uselessly at his back.

“Right,” Batgirl says slowly, nodding. “You're all dismissed.”

Jaime visibly relaxes, rubbing a hand over his face. Stupid, stupid. Even though he and the scarab are partners now, it's always suggesting stupid things, and people still think he's talking to them even when he's talking to the scarab, and it's nothing short of embarrassing and awkward every time he has to explain in the middle of a briefing that sorry, he wasn't saying shut up to _you,_ Batgirl, because he would never do something like that, it's just that the scarab--

A hard jab in his side makes him jump.

“What was the scarab talking about?” Bart asks, tilting his head.

“Uhh,” Jaime stumbles, rubbing at his side, and rolling his eyes to the side. “Just the usual, stuff about how it's probably the Flash causing the activity.”

“Guess it's unnecessary to worry about then,” Tigress says, appearing next to him, adjusting something on her crossbow, which makes Jaime a bit uneasy, especially when the scarab whispers to him that she is a threat and should be terminated. “Ready to go?”

 

It hurts when Wally moves and he's in a place that he doesn't know, though even if it was a place he knew, he probably wouldn't recognize it. His ribs hurt, and his legs are sore, and the only thing he can remember is running, for some reason. His fingers twitch, and that hurts too. He looks at the clock next to the bed to see that it's 3 in the afternoon and his eyes flicker around the room in an attempt to gain his bearings, trying to think about all the things he knows.

His name is Wally West. He's wearing clothes that are too big for him, but he guesses that's better than nothing at all. It's 3 PM. The calendar on the wall says it's January, 2018. He thinks he's in someone's house, which is kind of creepy. He's thirsty as hell. He realizes his last memories are from being 13, but there's no way the body he's in now is that of a 13 year old.

He shifts in the bed, resting his feet on the ground, cringing at how much they hurt, and he works up the strength to stand, wobbling slightly. How long has he been sleeping? The world feels slow around him, like his brain is filled with fog, and he writes it off as being because he just woke up. Wandering through the hallway, he peers into empty room after empty room, decorated with elaborate paintings, books lining the walls, huge windows showing an enormous and well-kept front yard. He runs a numb hand along the wall as he walks, fingers tingling as the sleep fades out from his limbs. He comes across a room that feels familiar, and, feeling dizzy, steadies himself by leaning on the doorway, gazing hazily into the bedroom.

“Ahem.”

Wally whirls around, seeing an older man, dressed immaculately – a butler. Obviously. A house this gigantic of course belongs to someone absurdly rich, and someone that absurdly rich must have a butler.

“Um.” He stumbles, throat suddenly so dry it's choking him, his voice cracking and breaking like he hasn't spoken in ages. A brief wave of nausea overtakes him and he swallows thickly, leaning more heavily against the doorway.

“Master Dick requested you stay in bed in the event that you awoke,” the butler says, voice mild, seemingly unperturbed by the stranger walking his halls.

“Who're-- er,” Wally clears his throat uselessly. “Can I have some water?”

“Certainly,” the butler says. “May I escort you back to your room to await Master Dick and Master Bruce?”

Wally gives a noncommittal shrug and blinks blearily as he is brought back to his room, actually kind of grateful to sit his unsteady body in the armchair in the corner of the room facing the window, and he is brought a glass of water and some biscuits for good measure.

“So... do you come with the place?” He asks, giving a shaky smile after downing the water in two swift gulps.

“I have been in service with the Waynes since Master Bruce was in diapers,” he responds, deadpan.

Wait a minute. Wayne, Master Bruce, huge fucking mansion. Something clicks in the far reaches of Wally's mind and he stands up suddenly, only to be pulled back down by the soreness of his legs, collapsing back into the chair and staring up in disbelief.

“You aren't talking about Bruce Wayne, are you?”

“Do you know many other Waynes with butlers, Master West?”

He doesn't have a good answer for that, so he changes the subject.

“How long am I going to be here? I should probably get home, or call my mom, she's probably worried sick.”

“Master Dick has been alerted of your awakening and will be arriving shortly. Master Bruce will be here by at the end of the working day.” At this, he turns and walks towards the door, pausing in the doorway to look back for only a moment. “You may want to get some more rest before then,” is all he says before closing the door behind him, and Wally thinks he may hear the distinct click of a key being turned in a lock, and he knows he is stuck.

 

Time feels like it's going excruciatingly slow as Wally anxiously waits for whoever it is that is coming for him. He wracks his brain, trying desperately to think of why on Earth he would be in Gotham of all places, in Bruce Wayne's house, and why can't he remember anything from before he was 13? If looks are anything to go by, he's no longer the freckled, scrawny 13 year old he feels like he is.

He stares hard at the calendar on the wall. January, 2018. What happened to 2008? The clock ticks by, each second feeling like a year. At some point, he must've drifted off (to sleep or into a trance, he's not sure), because when he looks again it's 4:16 and the door is opening.

“Master West, Master Dick is here to see you,” the butler says from the doorway before quickly leaving, only to be replaced with a tall man, with dark hair and circles under his eyes like he hasn't slept in weeks.

“Wally,” he says, voice borderline happy and a smile on his lips that takes years off his face. “How's it going, man?” He approaches, hand out to presumably help him up, and Wally pulls back.

“Who are you and what are you doing?”

The man stops, hand hanging in the air. He straightens up and uses his abandoned hand to run through his hair.

“Dick Grayson,” he says, maybe sounding little wounded. “I'm Bruce Wayne's adopted son. And your best friend.”

Wally vaguely remembers something about Bruce Wayne adopting someone – a child who became an orphan after a very tragic circus accident. It was all very high profile, and it was the only thing people were talking about for weeks, even all the way in Keystone. Of course, this was at least ten years ago at this point, and the guy in front of him is definitely not nine years old any longer. Why he's now classifying himself as Wally's “best friend” is beyond him – why any of this is happening, for that matter, remains uncertain.

“Come with me,” Dick says, standing up, jaw set tightly. He sets off walking towards the door, making to open it before looking back and seeing Wally, sitting in the chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Why should I?” he asks, a little impetuous. “No offense dude, but it kinda sounds like you're gonna murder me or something.” Why, of course, Bruce Wayne's son would want to do that is unknown to him, but that's a mere drop in the bucket of all the things that are unclear.

Dick drops his chin to his chest and sighs, hand resting loosely on the knob.

“You're just going to have to trust me,” he attempts lowly.

Wally considers this for a long moment, nodding once, barely a dip of his head, before hesitantly getting up. They go to the room that Wally was looking into before and the same overwhelming familiarity of it hits him, and in a strange, deja-vu-esque moment, Wally knows that Dick is about to click open the hatch of the tall clock against the wall and that it will open up, revealing a staircase. He does just that, and they descend into darkness, and Wally is even more convinced that he is going to end up murdered. This is how people die in horror movies.

They go down the widening stairs into a cave-like structure beneath the mansion, Wally gazing up in amazement at the whole thing – beyond the stairs is a huge super computer, and far beyond even that is a museum of gadgets and costumes and old cars that are instantly recognizable to him. He stops dead on the stairs.

“Bruce Wayne is Batman?” He practically shouts – the noise bounces around the hollow cave, and some bats screech in the distance.

“Yes, welcome to the second time you've have this revelation,” Dick says, mildly amused.

“So you're... You must be Robin?”

Dick laughs and urges Wally to keep walking.

“I go by Nightwing now, but yes. I was, once.”

They come to a stop at a table, where lays a yellow bodysuit, the legs colored red, lightning bolt ear pieces snapped off in odd places, singed and tearing at the edges of the gloves and cowl. Wally steps over to it and just stares for a moment, and then looks back up at Dick, lips slightly parted in surprise, confusion.

“Look familiar?”

“Are you implying that that's supposed to be mine?” Wally asks, so incredulous that his voice comes out flat. He can't rip his eyes from the Flash logo in the chest.

Dick gives him a blank stare, emptiness behind tired eyes before he runs a hand across his face.

“Yes. You--” He hesitates before continuing, “were Kid Flash.”

“Wh... what?” He says, voice detached and far away, backing up a few steps. “What are you... what are you talking about? I'm not...” He looks down at himself, at his hands. “No, I'm not. I don't have superpowers! I've never even seen that suit before!”

Dick turns and grabs a file behind him, throwing it down on the table, the contents spilling out. There's pictures, and news clippings, and, well, the guy under that mask does kind of look like him, same jawline and green eyes and orange hair flying in his face. Face covered in freckles and grinning, totally innocent, immortalized in pictures at 13. The articles are all calling him Kid Flash, and there's pictures of him alone, with the Flash, with a bunch of people he doesn't know or recognize: a green girl who is maybe related to Martian Manhunter, a boy who is just like Superman but 16, a beautiful girl with Green Arrow motifs on her chest. The only one he even recognizes is Robin, but duh, it's Batman's friggin' sidekick, you'd have to have been living under a rock for the past 4 years to not know who he is. His eyes keep drawing back to the kid who is supposed to be him, yellow suit and superhero name and all. He looks up, eyes catching his reflection in the glass covered cabinets, and he feels woozy, the soreness in his muscles overtaking him, and he finds himself leaning his elbows against the table to steady himself, resting his hands on his temples.

He's silent for a long time, the tittering of bats in the background and the electric hum of the giant supercomputer at the front of the room filling his ears with overwhelming stimulus, and he closes his eyes.

“Wait... what do you mean I _was_ Kid Flash?” He asks this with no small amount of irony, pretending he believes any of this.

“You _are_ Kid Flash,” Dick says firmly, but then he seemingly loses his will, and he visibly swallows. “You've been dead for a year and a half.”

He resists the urge to laugh in his face. “Okay, I get it now,” he says, standing up and running his fingers through his hair. “This is a joke, right? Some big practical joke? I'm being Punk'd, and everyone is in on it?” Not like he even knows who would constitute “everyone” at this point, but he dismisses that fact. “I just fell and hit my head or something. Seriously, you say you're my best friend? You're just messing around with me?”

“Wally, this _is_ serious. Everyone thinks you're dead.”

“Dead?” He spits, almost venomously. He gestures down his body and lets his hands go out to his sides in a flourish. “Does it look like I'm dead?” If he's in Wayne Manor, he's in Gotham, and he can figure out something to do to get home from here, and the fact that his feet feel like they're vibrating means nothing and time is feeling too slow around him just because his brain is messed up. He needs to go for a walk, jog his memory of who the hell he is. “I'm going for a walk.”

He starts for the stairs and Dick grabs his wrist, halting him.

“I can't let you leave,” he says. “We still don't know what happened, or how you reappeared here, and--”

“Dick, I appreciate it, but you've got the wrong guy,” he says, twisting his arm from his grasp. He looks at him, almost sadly, and shakes his head. “I'm no Flash.” He takes the stairs two at a time, Dick trailing sulkily behind him, following him all the way to the door. On the doorstep, they pause.

“Come back when you're done,” Dick says, voice shaking, and Wally waves a hand in a silent promise.

 

Wally, a superhero. Yeah, right. That's about the last thing he could believe about himself right now. Especially a superhero related to the Flash, the fastest man alive and also his uncle but he's probably not even supposed to know that honestly, because his legs feel like jelly right now and he doesn't even think he could run a city block. Although, maybe it's not totally ridiculous, because he does remember pulling together Uncle Barry's notes together on how he became the Flash, but-- he stops in the middle of the sidewalk, idly examining himself in the glass of a shop window, and people shoulder past him. It's 2018, and he feels like he's stuck in 2008, like he's still 13 when he's obviously not.

His head is starting to hurt. How could he have lost 10 years of his life? Okay, even without the memory loss parts, he's still apparently lost a year and a half, and everyone thought he was dead. That is, if Dick isn't playing some huge joke on him, which he's still not totally sure of yet. It definitely all feels like a colossal joke to him.

He tears his gaze away from the window and keeps walking, head down. He realizes he's wearing no shoes and the shirt he's wearing is way too big, but tucking it in to his pants would make him look like a total chump so he settles for looking like a homeless person. He stares at the ground as he walks, going nowhere in particular, but his feet end up taking him to an apartment building in a seedier part of the city. He stares up at a window along the edge, blinking. Why did he come here?

Starting to move again, he scoffs at himself. As if he could even think about leaving at this point – no car, no money, not even enough for a bus ticket that could get him the thousand miles to Keystone. Besides, he can't get rid of this feeling that Dick is _right._ If he has been dead, how could he just show up at his parent's house? He might give his parents a heart attack, or they might not even be there anymore – what has changed in the year in a half, and would he even realize it was different?

He makes his way back to Wayne Manor, surprised at the muscle memory that carries him there.

 

“Are you sure you're okay?” Bart asks, voice speeding up just a little bit as he helps Artemis lay down in her bed, carefully removing her mask to reveal a black eye and a cut along her cheekbone.

“Yes, Bart, I'm _fine,_ ” Artemis says firmly. “I'll manage.” She sits up slightly with some effort.

“Okay but are you _sure--_ ”

“ _Yes_ , Bart,” she cuts off. “I've been through worse.” She manages a small, placating smile that she hopes doesn't look too much like a snarl. “It's getting late. You should go, Joan and Jay are probably worried about you.”

“Well you know me, I can be home in a flash,” he winks, and she rolls her eyes, and he notices that she doesn't really look at him after, and he swallows uncertainly. He curls and uncurls his hands into fists, fidgeting, suddenly very aware of the color of his suit against his skin. The distance that Artemis has established feels like a weight on his chest, and the air feels heavy in the room. Bart nods uneasily and gets up. “See you tomorrow?” He asks, voice as hopeful as he lets himself make it.

“Yeah,” she says, only the smallest amount of hesitation in her voice, only enough that he can perceive it, and he nods stiffly before bolting, phasing through the door and rushing down the stairs. He runs down the sidewalk towards the nearest zeta tube, faces slowing around him, when he sees someone who looks so familiar that he almost trips. He rights himself, and halts in an instant. He turns around, swearing he saw someone with red hair and freckles and a vague tan line that can only be created by the cowl of the Kid Flash costume.

“Wally?” He says, aloud, and no one responds, pushing past him to get out of the Gotham night. He blinks, running back the way he came, but he doesn't find the person again, and somewhere, deep inside his chest cavity, he feels an emptiness that aches.

 

Ten days pass, and Wally is all Bart can think about. His thoughts haven't been this consumed by him since he-- since he died, or “ceased.” He's gone to Gotham every chance he got, even trying his luck in Keystone and Central City, zipping through the streets at any chance he gets, trying desperately to find the person he thought he saw, but he always comes up frustratingly empty. He stares up at the statue in the memorial garden of Wally, in bright yellow and red and immortalized at 21, at the emblem on his chest, and he wants to rip it off his own body, face burning with more shame than ever at wearing the suit that is not his.

“Yo,” Jaime mumbles, bumping his arm up against Bart's. “You okay?”

“Yeah... yeah?” He swallows hard and lays his hand flat against his chest, feeling his heart beating like a hummingbird's. He lets out a breath, almost of relief, and smiles up at Jaime. “Totally crash, man.”

“I don't need my Scarab to tell that you're lying, Bart.”

There's silence for much longer than he would like, and he lets his hand drop to his side and he just shrugs. It feels like years, even though it might only be a few minutes – it's hard for him to tell.

“C'mon hermano, you know you can tell me what's up,” Jaime says, smiling down at Bart. He doesn't move, doesn't look at him at all, and Jaime lets his smile fade.

“You know that other night a couple weeks ago when we were on that mission with Artemis and she got hurt so I helped her back to her apartment?” Bart takes off at a breakneck speed and he has to make an effort to keep up. “Well when I was leaving, I thought, I mean I could've _sworn_ , Blue, that I saw Wally.”

Jaime's jaw drops.

“Did you really see him?” He asks, skeptical. “Maybe it was just someone who looked like him--”

“I... I thought I did,” Bart says simply. “Maybe I just wished I did, I don't know. I feel like an idiot, but I can't help but think that it was really him!” He huffs out a frustrated breath. “But how could it be? Your scarab--” He cuts himself off, because they both already know what he's going to say.

“Yeah,” is all Jaime says, after a long time. He rubs the back of his neck distractedly. “Look, just... don't get your hopes up. I don't want you to get hurt all over again.”

“Yeah. I know.”

 

Almost 2 weeks have passed since Wally woke up in the manor. He sees Dick every day – he's taken to sleeping on the couch, as if he's afraid Wally will bolt in the middle of the night and he'll be caught unawares. He almost never sees Bruce Wayne, but it's probably better that way, since he's not entirely sure if he would be able to contain himself from fanboying all over him.

He passes time by reading the old newspaper articles Dick had in that file, and doing additional research online. The second to last clip in the thick file has seemingly nothing to do with superheroes – it's an obituary, clipped from the local Keystone newspaper. His obituary, and a feeling of absolute dread overtakes him, and he has to put it down after reading a few sentences.

The last one is dated January 8, 2018, and is of the explosion that took place in Keystone square.

“Dick, what happened to me?” He asks despite the growing weight in the pit of his stomach. “Seriously, be straight with me here.”

“It was the Reach – aliens. They were going to blow up the Earth and there was a bomb that we hadn't detected.” Dick blows out a breath. “You, Flash, and Impulse were the only ones who could get there in time.” He looks down at his hands and has to pause. Wally's eyes trace his features, which look so old and tired compared to pictures of him from just a few years ago. “Flash said the energy was using you to siphon off because you were the slowest out of the three. Blue Beetle's scarab said that you 'ceased'. Honestly? I still don't know what happened to you in there.”

“I don't know what happened to me in there either,” he comments, actually attempting a smile.

“I never stopped looking for you,” Dick mutters, head in his hands. “I couldn't believe that you could be gone. Even Artemis...” he swallows thickly, shaking his head, casting the thought away. “You just fell back into existence. A sonic boom and a flash of light and an explosion, and you were in Keystone. Alive, barely.” He scrubs his hands over his face and they're quiet for awhile. “What do you remember?”

“My 13th birthday, for one,” he cracks, a half-sincere attempt at making a joke, but something about the situation doesn't lend itself to being very funny. He runs a hand along his neck. “I remember finding out that my uncle was the Flash, I guess. I stole his notes on what happened, and I guess I was planning on recreating the accident.” He tilts his head to the side, kind of rolling his eyes at himself. “Pretty stupid, probably.” He presses his lips together and is silent for a few moments longer than a standard pause. “I remember that and then waking up and feeling like I had run a marathon, and definitely not being 13 anymore.”

 

Jaime goes to Keystone the next day. He tells himself that it's because his scarab is still insisting that there is something suspicious going on, but if he's being honest (which he isn't going to be with anyone but himself, in the deepest reaches of his mind), the sight of Bart staring at Kid Flash's memorial, of his facade slowly breaking as he tells him about how he thought he _saw_ him, is burned into his mind.

“Okay, we're out here,” Jaime says, covering a yawn with the back of his armored hand. He zips around the city, aiming the scanner the scarab came up with at the area with the “highest amount of speed activity.”

_Fly 2 kilometers north,_ the scarab says, and Jaime resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“What's the point of this, esé?” He follows the directions, flying north and scanning as he tries to reason with the creature that is impossible to reason with. “It was probably the Flash, Keystone is right next to Central. Of course there'd be 'speed activity' or whatever you call it!” He knows he's trying to convince himself of this more than anything. “Are you gonna even talk to me now?”

_Fly 4 kilometers west._

Jaime flies that way, and in the distance he can see yellow police tape wrapped around an area. He urges himself forward a little faster, holding out his arm to scan while he gets a closer look at the destruction nearby. Broken glass, trees knocked right out of the ground, cracks in cement creating craters.

_Analyzing._

Jaime throws his hands up into the air and glides down to the ground, landing on his feet and pulling the scanner back into his armor. It could've just been the Flash, wouldn't be the first time a superhero caused major destruction, he reasons with himself.

_Analysis complete._

“I swear, if it's just the Flash we are going _straight_ home–”

_Probably that it is the first Kid Flash is 97%._

“Kid Flash?” he stumbles over his words at the very possibility, “But you-- you said he... 'ceased.'”

_Correct, Jaime Reyes. He did cease in that moment, but he has now ceased to cease._

“Hermano, I don't get a thing you're saying.”

If the scarab could sigh, he would have done it here, probably.

_I am saying that Kid Flash is alive._

 

“I have something to tell you.”

Jaime had been very vague with Bart, telling him to meet him at his house. Bart's thoughts ran too fast for even him to comprehend, questions circling and disappearing to give way to others without him even giving a second thought to the answer. He arrives at Jaime's house thirty minutes early, and he knocks on the door and circles around the front steps for what feels like _hours_ before the door is finally opened.

“Hola, hermano!” Bart says as soon as the door is opened, pronouncing every letter of his greeting, making Jaime cover his face to try to hold back his laughter.

“Hey, Bart,” he says as Bart walks through the doorway. “You're... early.”

“Couldn't sleep,” he says flippantly. “Gotta admit, getting a cryptic text at 2 AM? Not the best way to help put me to sleep.” His words are starting to mix, and he forces himself to slow down and crack a smile, drawing in a breath to help him return to his persona. “I mean, I get that you probably want to admit your undying love for me, but couldn't you have been less vague?” He cocks his head to the side, raising an amused eyebrow up at the way Jaime colors coral.

“That's not-- !” Jaime blows out a breath harshly, shaking his head. “Bart, this is serious.”

“Who said I wasn't being serious?”

Jaime groans, obviously embarrassed, before grabbing his arm and dragging him down the hall to his room, which subdues Bart more than he thought it would, until he realizes how strong the grip on his arm is. He lets go and swallows.

“Sorry,” he says quietly as he opens the door.

“'S fine,” Bart mumbles back. He sits at the desk chair, hands in his lap, foot tapping at lightning speed. Jaime sits across from him on the bed.

“Can you listen to me for just a minute, esé?” He asks, voice sincere. “You know how when we went on that mission with Tigress and my scarab was talking to me and I said it was about the Flash?” Bart shrugs and then nods. “Well that wasn't... totally true. It was saying that there was a chance it was something else and... when you told me you thought you saw Wally I started thinking about it more and...” He lets the armor don itself onto his arm so he can pull up a holographic image of the scene he came across. Bart leans in, looking at the picture, before shifting a questioning gaze up to Jaime's face. “I went here and the scarab did some scanning stuff and it wasn't the Flash.”

“Yeah?” Bart says, raising his eyebrows. “What are you saying?”

“The scarab says that it's Wally,” he says it fast, trying to get all the words out before he loses his will, because the scarab has probably been wrong before and he shouldn't really be getting his hopes up like this, because what if it wasn't, but Bart's eyes instantly widen, blinking dumbly.

“Are you serious right now?”

Jaime just nods, pressing his lips together in a trembling smile, and Bart jumps up, grabbing him by the arms.

“Jaime, I could kiss you!” He hugs him and then pulls back and they are awfully close and then Bart has jumped away from Jaime before he even realized what was happening. He has started pacing around the room at a normal jogging speed for any other person, leaving Jaime sitting on the bed, slightly dazed, only half-listening to Bart's speech as he plans aloud, words blending into a mess.

“We'll need to go out there, but I saw him in Gotham, so he could really be anywhere right now, right? Maybe we should tell Grandpa, but I saw him near Artemis's apartment, so maybe we should tell her... We should probably start Gotham though, although if you saw that in Keystone--”

“Bart.” Jaime somehow makes it through the blur and is able to snap his attention away. “We'll figure it out. On our own.” He adds the last part for emphasis.

 

They have been searching for days. Bart did a few scans around Central and Keystone before they both decided that going to Gotham would make the most sense, especially since the scarab was adamant that the speed signature was no longer in Keystone. They go to Gotham, Bart zipping around and appearing in moments next to Jaime, who has his scanner out and is examining the area around Artemis's apartment. They've been looking for 4 days and 6 hours, and maybe it's starting to seem a little hopeless.

They're sitting in a ritzier area of Gotham, Bart shoveling burgers into his mouth while Jaime ignores the scarab's analyzing in the back of his mind. Bart gulps down a sip of his drink before standing up.

“Okay, ready to go Blue?” He asks, already half out of the booth.

“Hey, hermano, relax.” He puts a hand to Bart's elbow, urging him to sit back down (which, to his credit, he does, although it now comes with a little extra superspeedy foot tapping). Bart's eyes anxiously wander and then fix on a point outside the door. “We'll find him--”

“Hey... hey!” Bart calls, dashing away before Jaime can even blink, skidding to a stop in front of a man right outside the restaurant. Jaime trips over himself while getting up to dash to the door.

“Hey, esé, what're you--” he says, catching up and standing in the doorway before cutting himself off, because the person in front of them -- he swallows thickly and fumbles with his gear for a minute, pointing his arm, cloaked in a scanner, right at the man in front of them. Passersby exchange glances, but carry on.

“Woah, woah! Hold on, I'm a good guy!” He yelps, holding up his arms. He flinches as he's bathed in a blue light before realizing it's not hurting him.

“Are you sure?” Jaime says.

“Yes? Of course I'm sure!” Wally says indignantly, throwing up his hands, clutching his greasy take-out bag. “I mean-- I mean, I think so. I can't remember, but right now I'm a good guy!”

“He's not talking to you,” Bart says, quietly.

“It's him.”

“Wally...”

Bart steps forward, eyes widened. This is definitely him – he didn't need the Scarab's confirmation to know that. His voice sounds a little rough around the edges, but other than that-- he swallows back a choking sob, pressing his hands to his stinging eyes.

“Woah. Dude. Are you okay?” Wally takes a step back, looking uncomfortable.

“Wally. It's me, Bart.”

There's a long pause, and he's searching, hoping for any flicker of recognition to cross Wally's face, one that only he could detect because it's so fast, one that the Scarab could pick up on, a raise of the eyebrows, the widening of the eyes, _anything._

“Am I... _supposed_ to know who you are?” He looks at the costume, which he realizes is the one Dick showed him at the manor – isn't that supposed to be his costume?

Bart can feel his knees going weak under him and his head is so heavy – what is he supposed to do? He wants to crumple into himself.

He feels Jaime's hand on his shoulder and he looks up, eyes stinging red and threatening to overflow.

“Let's talk to Nightwing. He'll know what to do.”

 

 

NEW MESSAGE FROM: Bart Allen

January 24, 2018 [8:01 PM]

Hey Art got a quick favor to ask

 

NEW MESSAGE TO: Bart Allen

January 24, 2018 [8:10 PM]

Yes?

 

NEW MESSAGE TO: Bart Allen

January 24, 2018 [8:10 PM]

Cool so me and Blue've got something we wanna talk to Nightwing about but he's been pretty incommunicado from the team lately so it's kinda hard to get ahold of him but we like really need to talk to him so could you maybe text him for us to get him to come to the watchtower tomorrow morning at I dunno maybe like 9?????

 

NEW MESSAGE TO: Bart Allen

January 24, 2018 [8:16 PM]

K.

 

Bart paces around in the meeting area of the Watchtower, hands clasped behind his back.

“Dude, can you sit down? You're giving me anxiety,” Jaime says, but the words feel far away, traveling through the thick layer of fog and thought circling through Bart's head. What is he even going to say to Nightwing? Should he tell Gramps? What about Artemis? He clenches and unclenches his fists, the kevlar suit suffocating him.

Jaime's hand grabs his wrist, and it's like coming up for air. He jerks his head in Jaime's direction, swallowing to try to get rid of the thick feeling of his tongue in his mouth.

“Hey, did you hear me?” He says, mask static but voice soft, colored-yellow eyes searching his face. “I know you want to talk to him, but we're way early. Nightwing will be here soon.”

As if on cue, the voice of the computer reads out Nightwing's designation number, his silhouette visible against the light of the zeta-tube that serves as the entrance to the Watchtower. Bart rips his arm away from Jaime's hand and runs forward, meeting him before he's even stepped out.

“Nightwing!” He says, voice a little too loud. “You're here!”

“Yes, at your request,” Nightwing says. “What can I do for you?”

“Yes, cool, cool” Bart says, trying and failing to sound nonchalant when the truth is trying to burst it's way out of him. “We have something to tell you.”

Jaime is at Bart's side, putting a hand on his shoulder, eyeing the amount of people walking through.

“Can we talk to you somewhere a little more private?”

Nightwing concedes, and they duck into a deserted room down the hall, some kind of spare utilities room, with shelves lining the walls with excess maintenance equipment stacked up high. Bart blows out a hard breath to steady himself, watching Nightwing's back as he stands motionless for a moment.

“Alright, before we get started,” Nightwing says, turning around and looking at them with an eyebrow raised. “You two aren't going to tell me anything that I don't want to know, right?”

A drawn out “uh” leaves Bart's mouth as he rolls his eyes to the ceiling.

“No? Maybe? I mean, I guess that depends on what disappoints you,” he says, giving a nervous, uncontrollable laugh and looking at Jaime from the corner of his eye, mouthing the word “help.”

“Nightwing, we saw Wally,” Jaime says with some level of finality. “The scarab says it's him and that he's alive in Gotham, and he had no idea who we were--”

“I know,” Nightwing says noncommittally.

“You-- what?”

“I'm the one who found him,” he says, and Bart jumps up in front of him.

“You knew?! And you didn't tell us!?”

“Hey, what's going on here?” Artemis and Superboy appear in the doorway, and Nightwing avoids their gaze.

“Wally is alive and Nightwing knew this whole time,” Bart blurts out, and he immediately regrets it. He can instantly see Artemis's face become stony, and Superboy puts a protective hand on her shoulder.

“Can we talk to Nightwing?” He says, looking pointedly at Jaime and Bart. “ _Alone_?”

“Uh, yeah, we actually... have something else to do, right hermano?” Jaime says, casting a glance at him and grabbing his arm.

“But--” Bart starts to protest, but the looks shot his way by Jaime and Superboy force him to back down. Jaime half-drags him from the room and it slams shut behind them, Bart's hand hanging uselessly on the handle – he pushes his ear up to the steel, and against his better judgement, Jaime does too.

“Is this true?” Superboy asks, voice amazingly calm, you know, for him. He crosses his arms firmly over his chest and raises his chin – he's always had a few intimidating inches on Nightwing, even after he's grown up.

“I want to see him,” Artemis demands.

“He won't remember you.”

“Dick, I swear to God, I will kill you. Just let me see him.”

There is silence for a long time, and Jaime and Bart exchange looks behind the door. Jaime begins to mouth that they should go when the talking resumes.

“If you don't take me, I'll just go by myself,” Artemis finally says.

“No,” Nightwing says, firmly. “And that's final.”

“But he might remember me!” She says, voice becoming rough. “He might know who I am!”

“He didn't know his own best friend or that he was Kid Flash, so I doubt it.”

“You just think you're so great because you _found_ him,” she snaps. “You just want to keep him to yourself because you think you deserve it more than the rest of us!” She crosses her arms. “You and your stupid secrets, because they always go over _so_ well--”

“Don't get mad at me because you gave up.”

Artemis bristles, coloring red.

“You know what?” she snarls, turning to walk away, hands curled into fists at her sides. “Fuck off, Grayson.”

She wants to claw his eyes out for saying what she knows to be true.

 

A knock on the manor door prompts Dick to open it as he walks by.

“Artemis.”

“Dick.”

There's a moment of tension, where they stare each other down, but Artemis stands her ground until Dick just shakes his head, putting on a smile.

“Well, to what do we owe the honor?” He asks, voice only a little snarky. She glares at him as she pushes past to go in the manor.

“Quit the games, Grayson. I'm here to see Wally.”

“How do you know he's here?” he asks, smirking in a way that makes her want to strangle him.

“Blue and Bart saw him in Gotham,” she starts, listing things off of her fingers. “He doesn't know about zeta tubes and doesn't have superspeed, so he can't _leave_ unless you've flown him out with your bougie private jet. Which, by the way, has a very defined flight path over my apartment. The only places in Gotham he knows of are here and my house, and he's sure as hell not there.” She cocks her head and puts a hand on her hip, raising her eyebrows. “You're not the only one who can connect the dots around here.”

“You're not going to like what you see,” he says stonily.

“Try me.”

 

“Hey, Wally. There's someone that wants to see you,” Dick says, and Wally notes the particular unsteadiness in his voice as he says it, and he furrows his brows together before his eyes snap to the girl following him in.

This girl, this beautiful girl with golden hair and dark eyes practically jumps his bones, pulling him in for a kiss that tastes like hunger and like pain and she didn't pull away until Wally is lightheaded and his cheek flush red. As she pulls back, he breathes hard through his parted mouth and blinks at her, because he needs to know what he did to deserve _this_ , and she just stares at him, drinking in his face like she's been in a desert.

“Wally,” she breathes, hand resting on his cheek, eyes glistening with tears. “It's really you.”

He swallows, feeling the pads of her fingers against his cheek, and he wants so desperately to remember.

“Hey, beautiful,” he starts, slowly, fingers tightening around the seat of his chair as he sees the way her face lights up at the pet name, “not like I'm complaining, but... who are you?”

She takes a few steps back, blinking at him with dark eyes and furrowed brows, and she takes a moment before answering.

“Artemis,” she says, voice careful and measured and he knows he's screwed up big time when she crosses her arms over her chest protectively. “Your girlfriend.”

“I tried to tell you,” Dick says. “He doesn't remember anything. He doesn't even remember his powers.”

“I don't _have_ any powers!” Wally says for what feels like the millionth time, furiously shaking his hand in the air. “Does it look like I have super speed to you?”

They all look at each other, silence falling over the room except for the vague sound of traffic in the distance. Artemis turns her back on them, and he wants to pull her back in, but he just found out her name two seconds ago, so he stares at the floor and doesn't do anything.

“I need air,” Artemis mutters before hastily leaving the room.

 

Artemis practically flees the scene, still reeling from the pure nonrecognition on his face. She yanks the door open and goes out onto the front step, letting the smoggy air of Gotham pass for fresh as she tries to clear her head. She sags against a pillar, wrapping her arms around it to steady herself. Leaning her forehead against the cool marble, she closes her eyes.

She could have looked for longer, she _should_ have looked for longer. She could have helped Dick, but after he left the team and was totally uncommunicative, she became Tigress for long enough to lose herself.

Conner slept in closets for almost a year after and M'gann made her hair become long, and when he stopped and she made it short again, Artemis thought maybe it was time to move on too, if she could. Letting the search go, letting the fact that she knows he loved her, letting herself know that they all felt the same as she did would have to be good enough. Her throat tightens up and she scrubs at her eyes, trying to steel her will to go back inside when she hears the door open behind her. She turns to see Dick in the doorway, and she whips her head back around, not wanting to see him satisfied that he was right. He's always right.

She was stupid for thinking that he would remember her. He doesn't even know who _he_ was.

“He really doesn't remember a thing,” Artemis says. She sits down on the steps, head in her hands. “Dick, what're we going to do?”

“I don't know,” he says lowly. “We need a truly dumb idea, but unfortunately Wally was usually the one to supply those.”

Artemis kind of laughs here, in spite of herself. They're quiet for awhile, staring down the long driveway, past the monogrammed gate and onto the secluded, private street reserved for the manor.

“So, no powers?” She asks in confirmation.

“Not that I can tell.” Dick runs a hand through his hair. “If he has them, they're locked away.”

She nods stiffly, pressing her lips together.

“I wonder if we could jumpstart his powers somehow,” he continues talking, half to himself, as Artemis makes herself busy examining her chipped nail polish. “If he got his speed back, maybe he would start to get his memories back too.”

“What are you saying?” She asks, letting her gaze shift to a nearby tree, leaves fluttering in the breeze. “What are we supposed to do, reassemble a chemistry set from 2008 and blow him up again?”

They both pause for a minute before exchanging uncomfortable glances.

“Would that work?” she says, uncertain now that she's said the words.

“It is a pretty dumb idea,” he comments, the barest lines of a smile starting to show. “Pretty Wally of you, Artemis.”

“Must've rubbed off on me.”

They look at each other for a moment longer, both pressing back half-smiles at the idea, at something this _stupid_ that it's amazing Wally didn't come up with it himself. Dick is the first to break off, turning his gaze back to the sky, which is turning a greyed-out indigo, devoid of stars.

“Wally said that he remembers stealing Flash's notes. We could ask him if he remembers what's on them and we could pull things together.”

“And if he doesn't remember?” Artemis asks.

“I can find a way.”

 

“This is a _dumb_ idea,” Wally says, staring at the retro-looking kid's chemistry set in his hands.

“Oh, now he thinks that,” Dick mutters, at which Artemis gives a kind of half snicker. He raises his voice. “Look, this is how you got your powers in the first place. Don't you want your speed?”

“I mean, I guess so.” Wally runs his thumbs along the edge of the box. He closes his eyes for only moments longer than a standard blink – it's not about the speed, it was about being a superhero, but maybe that sounds stupid. When he opens his eyes, he looks at the pair and stands up. “Yeah, I'll do it.”

They leave the garage, leaving him alone with the chemistry set, and he feels pretty silly right about now. He flips idly through the notes that Dick somehow procured (Wally didn't ask – he didn't really want to know) one more time before opening the box. Little packets of chemicals and test tubes and a random assortment of tools made of glass, metal, and rubber. He mixes stuff together, lines them up in the assortment of beakers and test tubes available to him.

The last thing he remembers is taking the exposed wires from behind an electrical plug in the wall and plunging them into the largest container there is.

 

Artemis is borderline hysterical.

“We're idiots. We are the biggest, dumbest idiots on the planet. Why did we think this was a good idea?”

“We were imitating Wally, can you blame us?” Dick says, voice monotone. He's sitting on a chair in the hospital room at Gotham General, elbows resting on his thighs and fingers intertwined in front of him, eyes tracing Artemis as she paces back and forth, occasionally leaving her to glance over at Wally in the bed.

“This is not the time for your jokes, Dick,” she shrieks. She pulls her unruly ponytail over her shoulder and anxiously pulls at the ends. “This is it. We have to tell someone, we have to tell his parents or Barry or... or... someone!” She feels shockingly like a child right about now, like nothing but a sidekick who hasn't been through worse, who hasn't been through old panic in old air conditioning shafts with Dick before. Her eyes feel hot and she pauses her pacing to close her eyes and tries to forget.

“Hey,” he says, voice softening. “Get traught, Art. I'll handle it.” She hears him stand up and he puts an hand briefly to her arm. “Are you going to be okay?”

She finally opens her eyes and jerks her arm away from him, because she doesn't need the sympathy. “I'll manage,” she mumbles, flipping her hair defiantly over her shoulder. She crosses her arms over her chest as Dick gives her a stiff nod and leaves her.

As the door clicks shut, Artemis buries her face in her hands and desperately bites back a scream. She had him, she had Wally, and even if he wasn't exactly the same it was still _him,_ with the golden flecks in his eyes and the two prominent freckles that stand out from all the rest next to his right eye and the uneven teeth and the body that burns like the sun against her. It was him, alive, with a heartbeat, not just lost to the ether with only a few words told to her after the fact as she collapsed into the Arctic snow.

She gulps down a few gasps of air, desperately trying to not burst into tears or something even more embarrassing, and she wretches one of the chairs from its spot by the wall and pulls it up against the bed. She sits, bringing her feet up onto the chair and curling up on herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and hugging herself because no one else can now. Her eyes look over him, the chemical burns along his hand, the tattoo-like spread of a dark scar that crawls up his arm, disrupting his freckles and looking ultimately too serious to be anywhere near him.

As she sits here and watches Wally's chest rise and fall, she becomes terrified that it will stop.

 

“What happened,” Bruce asks, and it doesn't sound like a question, and Dick somehow reverts back to being nine years old and breaking a vase while messing around in Bruce's study when he wasn't supposed to be there. He doesn't even sound angry, he sounds perfectly calm, which scares Dick even more, not like he'll admit it.

“We... kind of... had Wally recreate the experiment that gave him his powers,” he says, trying to get the words out quickly.

“In my _garage_?”

Dick just kind of shrugs, trying to remain noncommittal. There's a long pause where Bruce just _stares_ at him, waiting to see if he'll break – which, usually he does because it's kind of hard not to when your dad who happens to be _Batman_ is staring you down. Dick gulps.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Bruce lets out an exasperated sigh and gives Alfred a look.

“And where were you during this?”

“It _did_ seem like a good idea at the time, sir.”

“Not helpful, Alfred,” Bruce mutters, going to sit at his heavy oak desk. Dick sees his eyes go to the painted portrait of him with his parents above the fireplace before returning his steely gaze to him. “I went along with this at the beginning because it seemed like it was really important to you, Dick. And up until now, it's been okay.” He folds his hands in front of him, and Dick knows what's coming. “However, it has now gotten out of hand. Unfortunately, I am going to have to tell Flash about this.”

“Bruce, you can't. He'll go ballistic.”

“I know. That is a storm we will have to weather together because I let this happen.”

There is a long pause in the conversation, a chill settling over the room as the sounds of a Gotham far away fill in the gaps.

“We are both responsible,” is what Bruce ends with, and Dick just nods, swallowing back the tightness in his throat.

 

It's a few days later. Wally's condition hasn't got any better, but he hasn't gotten worse either, so Dick lets himself be mildly relieved. He had been unconscious for close to a week the first time – Dick tries not to worry. Tries.

Bruce sends a message to Barry through the Batcave. 15 agonizing minutes later, his presence is announced by Alfred and he's ushered into the study. Dick paces the area, disturbingly unable to hide his nerves.

“Bruce! What a pleasant surprise to have you call me,” Barry says. “I came as soon as I got your message.” He examines the study he's in carefully, looking around at each object for barely split seconds, eyes catching for almost too long on the large portrait of a young Bruce and his parents. He swallows and then puts on an easy smile. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Barry,” Bruce says, voice all business. He gestures to the seat in front of the desk. “Take a seat.” He also gives a pointed glance to Dick, who stops pacing and leans against the wall behind him.

Barry tilts his head a little in confusion, but follows directions and sits down – like he has much of a choice.

“Everything okay, Bats?” He gives a bit of a nervous laugh. “You haven't acted like this since we first got the League together and you had to talk me out of doing stupid stuff all the time.” He pauses, brief even for a speedster. “Have I been doing stupid stuff again?”

“No, not you,” Bruce says, voice growing only slightly softer. “Us.” He takes in a deep breath and lets his hands rest on the top of his desk, fingers interlocked. “Truthfully, I don't really know how to tell you this, Barry. You're familiar with the incident in the North Pole a year and a half ago, of course?”

Barry visibly stiffens, fingers gripping the edge of the chair.

“Of course,” he echoes coarsely. “What's that supposed to--”

“What exactly do you believe happened to Kid Flash?”

“I-- I don't know,” he admits. He clenches his jaw once, twice, before speaking again. “The energy was using him to siphon off, and he just... vanished. We tried to slow down for him, but... if I had known...” He trails off, looking down at the ground, the pain of that day still present, his mind drowning in snow. There is a moment of heavy silence in which Dick is afraid to even breathe.

“I would like to present my own theory.” Both Barry and Dick turn their heads sharply towards Bruce. How long has he been working out this own theory of his? And without even consulting him-- Dick swallows, trying not to sulk, because he knows he would have done the same thing. “Time travel.”

“It's not possible,” Barry quickly deflects. “I mean, it is. For me, and probably for Bart. But Wally was never near fast enough to do anything like that.” Crossing his arms, he shakes his head and leans back in the chair, gaze going off to the side. He lowers his voice to not much more than a mutter. “No, he couldn't have... unless--”

“Unless the energy was powering him, instead of killing him?” Bruce finishes his thought for him. “If he was given a burst of energy from running alongside the two of you, and it generated enough speed for him to be propelled forward in time.”

Everyone is quiet again, Barry clearly trying to work out if this is even possible in his head. Dick turns to look out the window, feeling like an idiot. It would make sense, because why else would he come out the other side completely fine? The burst could have been too much for him and so it drained his powers completely. The memory loss is a mystery, but maybe the trauma of the event was enough to send him into some kind of fugue state.

“Do you have any proof?” Barry finally asks, voice a mix of skeptical and hopeful.

Bruce and Dick exchange looks, and he gives a grave nod. Stepping forward, Dick takes a deep breath.

“Barry, we-- I found Wally,” Dick says firmly. He hurries, pressing on to prevent Barry from being able to get a word in until he's done. “I asked Bruce to let him stay here and me and Artemis helped him redo the experiment that gave him his powers. I'm sorry.”

Barry stares at them both for a long time, and then slowly stands. It's incredible how slow and methodical his movements are in this moment, and he resembles nothing of the Flash in more way than just that.

“You blew him up again?” He asks, and Dick can only nod. “After he did that, he was in a coma for a week!” He starts pacing, voice speeding up just ever so slightly, agony apparent. “He was in a coma because I left my notes around for him to find, and you _did it again_?”

“He didn't have his powers, he didn't have memories of anything!” Dick argues, voice gaining an uncharacteristically desperate edge. “We just wanted to help him.” He swallows. “Isn't that what Wally would have done?”

“You should've told me,” Barry says, face buried in his hands. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Don't blame Nightwing for this,” Bruce attempts.

“Oh, I don't. I'm blaming you, Bats.” He stares hard at the ground before shifting his glare up to them, going between them. “Where is he now?”

“Gotham General Hospital,” Dick answers automatically, quietly.

“I want him moved to the Watchtower medical bay. And I don't want him anywhere near either of you.”

With a gust of wind that flutters the papers on the desk, Barry is gone, and Dick no longer feels any measure of relief.

 

Wally's eyes slip open, the bright lights and white walls blurring in front of him and making his head hurt. Trying to stretch out, he groans, noticing an IV stuck in his arm that prevents him from moving around too much. As his vision clears, he looks over to the side of his bed.

Artemis sits at his side, leaning forward against her arms, which are crossed over the edge of the bed. Her eyes are closed, her hair falling over her face and slightly concealing half of it. Wally lifts his hand and brings it to her face, tucking her hair behind her ear, letting himself rub his thumb against her cheek until she shifts.

“Hm? Wally... ?” Artemis's eyes flutter open, leaning her cheek into his hand with a soft groan. “Wally!” She repeats, almost a gasp, and she jumps up from her chair, quickly shaking off the sleep that she just emerged from. “You're awake – you're alive?”

“That's what it looks like, isn't it?” He says, smiling. He tries to shift himself up in the hospital bed, a pain running through his arm and his chest forcing him to grimace a little. Leaning back, frustrated, he continues. “Guess that was a pretty dumb idea, huh?”

Turning his head to look at her, he notices that she's stepped quite a few feet back, and she's hugging herself. Her expression is cold.

“I'm going to go get Barry,” she says, and leaves the room hastily.

Wally stops himself from objecting, as by the time he thinks of anything to say she's already out the door. He looks around the room he's in – it's sterile and white, a clock hanging above the doorway, with multiple, unoccupied beds to either side of him. A few narrow windows with thick glass line the top of one wall, showing the black sky outside. Unsure of how long he's even been out, Wally assumes it must be nighttime. He stares at the clock, each passing tick of the second hand feeling like an eternity.

Knowing that staring at the clock won't do him any good, Wally instead examines his hand – the one he plunged into pure chemicals. It's actually wrapped up in a white bandage, but he picks at the fabric until it unravels, exposing his palm. A mark, darkness surrounding white lines that go up his arm like veins, covers nearly his entire hand and forearm. Red chemical burns cover any parts that aren't scarred up. He winces as he tries to open and close the hand, the skin still raw.

He feels a pressure change in the room and looks up, seeing Barry in front of him – he's wearing his costume but he's flipped the cowl off, blonde hair messy, eyes slightly glassy.

“Hey, Kid,” Barry says, voice almost haunted sounding. He takes a few steps forward and grabs the back of the chair that Artemis had been sitting in. “Can I sit?”

Wally nods his head, and he sits, and they just kind of stare at each other for awhile. Barry's attention keeps going to the marks going up Wally's arm until he forces them back, examining Wally's face above all else. Finally, after what feels like an eternity but was maybe actually four and a half minutes, Barry clears his throat.

“You probably have some questions, huh?” He asks.

Wally snorts. That's would be an understatement.

“Where am I? How did you... find out? Dick seemed to be kind of keeping it quiet, and I didn't really know what was going on – I mean, I still don't, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling uncomfortable and stiff. “I'm still missing like, 10 years of my life. How can I even fix that?”

“Relax, Kid. Slow down.” Wally rolls his eyes at that one – going slow isn't usually the problem in this family – but he gives a kind of curt nod to his uncle. “One thing at a time, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, a little deflated.

“First off, you're in the Watchtower. It's kinda like the League's headquarters. The Team moved here too after... well, about a year ago.”

Wally gives him a look.

“I thought that was the Hall of Justice?”

Barry stares at him for a moment, brows furrowed.

“You really don't remember, do you?” He asks, rubbing a hand across his jaw and leaning back in his chair. “Ollie spilled the beans to Roy about the Hall of Justice just being a front for tourists and being a zeta tube port to here a long time ago. Ringing any bells?”

Wide-eyed, Wally shakes his head. Barry blows out a breath.

“Jeeze, this is going to be tough. What do you know, exactly?”

“Short of you being the Flash, I woke up with no information about any other superheroes or sidekicks or any of their identities.” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “Everything I know now is stuff that people just... assumed I knew. Stuff that I should've known, I guess. That I did know at some point.”

An alarm goes off – a quick chirping beep that goes off three times, like a household fire alarm low on batteries.

“Shoot, I've gotta go. Duty calls,” Barry says. He leans forward like he's going to stand up but he hesitates for a moment, maintaining his posture. “Listen, I told your parents already. A few days ago. Trying to give them some time to process. Obviously they can't come see you here.”

Wally nods his head, not really sure what to say. “Okay,” is what he comes up with.

“I'll take you to see them when you're discharged.” Barry manages a smile. “Hopefully will only be a couple days now, but you can probably take a walk around the Watchtower if you're feeling up to it. How _are_ you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Wally responds immediately, prompting his uncle to look sharply at him. He withers a little. “Like, more than normal?”

“Right. Well, I'll tell them to up your calorie intake now that you're up.” Barry gives Wally a pat on the calf and stands, attempting another smile. “Get some rest.”

Wally leans back in his seat as Barry leaves the room, blinking up at the ceiling tiles, pristine and white, feeling that something has shifted within him.

 

The next day, a nurse takes out his IV. He revels in the fact that he can now actually get out of bed, feeling restless and wanting to at least leave this room. Even if it is a super high tech medical bay owned by the Justice League, it can get pretty boring. Both Barry and Bart dropped by – Wally notes the peculiar absences of Dick and Artemis, but tries not to think too hard about it. After inhaling the lunch they brought him – the portions are nearly doubled what is normal and he still feels like he could eat more after – he jumps out of bed.

As he leaves the room, he's put out into a hallway that has floor-to-ceiling windows, curved and made of thick glass, and out beyond is the darkness of space, and far below he can see Earth slowly turning under him.

He's in space. He's in _space._

“Wow,” he whispers, leaning forward to put his hands on the glass, pressing his face in close like a kid at an aquarium. After a few moments, he realizes that he's not alone in the hallway – civilians wearing uniforms and some superheroes and other people are filtering through – and feels a little self-conscious. He starts walking and pretends he looks like he knows what he's doing and that he feels like he belongs there, even though he knows he doesn't. Plus, with the red hair, he probably sticks out like a sore thumb. Taking note of what floor the med bay is on, he ducks into an elevator and sighs, going to a lower level where there may be fewer people.

He wanders through the thankfully less crowded hall before coming to a room at the end of the hall with a fancy sign above it – “Memorial Garden.” He gets a bit of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach but can't stop himself from going in.

The door slides open almost soundlessly, and he peeks in before committing fully to entering. His eyes fall on a yellow-suited figure, a hologram of a boy with freckles and green eyes and messy red hair, and his heart jumps to his throat, choking him. He steps in, noticing that Bart is there in front of the memorial, looking small.

“Is this... me?” He asks, quietly, startling Bart. Why is it still here? They all know he's not dead now, right? He looks at the other memorials, of people he doesn't know and the original Blue Beetle, all dressed up in his goofy blue suit with the yellow goggles. If he squints, he can remember Artemis' body up against all the other ones.

“Yeah,” Bart responds. “They're going to take it down pretty soon I guess, so I just thought I would look at it one last time.”

Wally looks over at him. He's in the yellow and red uniform that Wally is shown in on the pedestal, a clean version of the one Dick showed him. His auburn hair is growing long, enough that it covers his eyes, and Wally vaguely remembers when he was so much smaller. He was 13 when he came back to the past, Wally was told, so now he would be what, 14? 15? Same age he was when the Team was started.

He wishes these memories were his own, not just things he was told.

“I looked at it a lot,” Bart says simply, shrugging uselessly and running a hand through his hair. “With Artemis, a lot. And grandpa. And by myself.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I'm sorry for taking over and being Kid Flash after you died,” he blurts out suddenly. Wally doesn't know what to say. He never knows what to say. He wants to tear the whole thing down.

 

Wally wants to see Artemis. He can't even explain why – in the deepest reaches of himself, he knows that she's basically a stranger to him. As far as his memories are concerned, they had never met before a few weeks ago. And then, she had nearly killed him, so there's that.

But something about her, and about what he knows should be there between them, draws him to her inexplicably. He walks around for a bit, still feeling that same self-consciousness from yesterday, but as he goes around more, he feels a bit of relief that most people don't seem to notice him. Although he set out in a mission to talk to Artemis, it occurs to him that he has absolutely no idea where she would be. First of all, this place is huge and he has no idea where anything is – it's a miracle he was able to end up back here yesterday. Secondly, she might not even be here, and thirdly, it's hard to know where a person you barely know would like to be.

After asking around a little bit, he ends up upon a room that is deserted except for her, a large observation room with glass all around and tables and chairs and bookshelves. It gives Wally a library vibe except, y'know. In space (a fact that he still cannot get over – he's in space, guys).

As the door swishes open, Artemis turns from the window she's look out of with a start. Her expressions stiffens and she turns back around as Wally approaches her.

“Hey,” he mumbles.

“Hi.”

“I asked around and people said you would be here,” Wally mentions, and Artemis just gives him a nod. “Um, can we talk?”

“About what?” She's trying her hardest to remain cold and distant, but the quiver in her hands is betraying her, and she wraps them around the edge of the table she's leaning against.

“About... us, I guess?” He doesn't even know where he's going with this. There's a few moments of quiet, where his heart pounds against his ribs and he's practically holding his breath. Artemis's eyebrows twitch downwards and her mouth curls into a frown.

“You know, Wally, I knew I couldn't get over you, but I tried my best,” she says, suddenly, and even though he doesn't really _know_ her, it sends a ripple of pain through his chest. He presses his lips together into a straight line.

“And did you?” He asks, not knowing if he really wants to know the answer or not.

“No.” She chews on her bottom lip, avoiding looking at him. “I couldn't even get rid of your stuff. I dropped a lot of it off in boxes at your parent's house, but there was so much that I kept.” She finally looks at him, eyes sullen, and he knows that's not a look that was meant for him. “I just kept pretending.”

“Dick said you stopped looking,” he says, trying his best to sound noncommittal.

She shifts her gaze away from his again, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

“I had to, Wally.” She hesitates, swallowing, her voice starting to crack. “Do you know how many times I forgot it wasn't you in that stupid yellow suit?” She bites her lip, hard, and stares straight at a point far outside the window, brow furrowed and eyes glassy.

“I don't blame you,” is what he says, taking a few steps towards her, leaning against the same table that she is. He puts a hand on her arm, and she jerks her head to look at him. “I mean... coming back to life? That's comic book stuff.”

She almost cracks a smile. Almost, somehow, behind her dark eyes that are fogged over with the beginning of tears, she can eke out some kind of half-smile.

“Geek,” she mutters, uncrossing her arms and resting the butts of her palms on the edge of the table.

“Not the first time you've called me that,” he says, his hand sliding down her arm to rest on her's. “Probably won't be the last, either.”

“Yeah,” she says, voice dry. He can feel her fingers twitch under his hand, but she doesn't move it away like he thought she was going to. “Probably.” Head still turned to face him, she casts her gaze downwards.

Something in his head tells him to kiss her, that he should've done it a long time ago, and he runs the ridges of his teeth over his bottom lip before using a gentle hand to lift her chin, his eyes flickering to her's for barely a moment before he meets their lips. It's nothing like the first kiss of their's that he can remember, which was strong and passionate and full of longing – this has that last part too, but it's soft and quiet and makes his heart beat hard in his ears. It possibly lasts for seconds, or minutes, it's hard to tell, and she suddenly pushes him away, her hand against his chest.

“What are you doing?” She asks, voice shaking, with anger or shock he can't tell.

“Isn't it obvious? I'm kissing you.”

“It's wrong,” she mutters, finally pulling her hand away and hugging herself. Her chin trembles, and he pretends not to notice. “I'm not the same person anymore.”

She doesn't say anymore, and she leaves the room, and he feels guilty for knowing that he wouldn't know the difference.

 

Two days after his conversation with Artemis, Wally is discharged. They give him a final clean bandaging over his hand, but it's actually healed remarkably well – the red patches of skin are nearly their normal color.

Barry takes him through the zeta tube to one near his house, showing him how to use it – his old designation number is still in operation, so he can travel freely with the tubes to get wherever he needs to go. They walk the couple of blocks towards his house, and as they reach his block, Wally can feel himself getting cold feet. They're his parents, and he should be happy to see them, but something in him hates seeing the look on people's faces when they see him again. A weight bears down on his sternum as they mount the steps up his porch, and as Barry goes to knock on the door, Wally feels like he can hardly breathe for the pressure.

The door opens in an instant as if they were waiting, and Barry steps aside to let Wally be in full view of his parents, who stand in the doorway. His mother's hands are covering her quivering mouth, eyes full of tears. His dad's eyes are red around the edges, and Wally knows he's doing that dad thing where he's holding back and he wishes he wouldn't. He stands in the doorway for an uncomfortably long amount of time until Barry nudges him forward, and he stumbles inside the house, feeling just ever so slightly out of place.

They sit at the dining room table, silent, Wally trying to ignore the haunted look his parents were giving him, like they're talking about someone who isn't much more than a ghost.

“I'm taking responsibility for this,” Barry says. “Again. None of this ever would have happened in the first place if it wasn't for me.”

It is in this moment that he realizes – to him, it feels like he hasn't seen them for a few weeks, two months tops. But for them? They haven't seen him in over a year and a half. They've grieved for so long, and he can't just expect things to go back to how they were. How he remembers, which may not have even been the same as when he left. He feels lightheaded even thinking about it, and he excuses himself to go sit outside.

It feels the same, almost dangerously so, but it also feels wrong. Like he can't reconcile what he knows, what he remembers, and what he feels it should be. For some reason, the fact that Dick never came to see him in the med bay is beginning to bug him. He acted like he wanted to help Wally through all of this, to help him get his powers and memories back, but when it got difficult, he was no where to be found. Blowing out a harsh breath, Wally rests his head in his hands and closes his eyes for awhile, trying to calm his fragmented thoughts.

Hearing the door open behind him, Wally turns his head to see Barry coming out. He sits next to Wally on the step.

“How're ya feeling, Kid?” He asks, cheery-sounding.

“Feeling pretty overwhelmed,” Wally responds, voice flat. They're quiet for awhile, and it's almost eerie how silent it is in the suburbs of Keystone. He finds himself missing the bustling sounds outside the med bay doors, even the constant noises of police activity in Gotham. “Why didn't Dick come to see me?” He finally asks, more to himself than to Barry.

“I wouldn't let him,” Barry tells him, looking and sounding a little guilty.

“What? Why would you--”

“Listen to me. After you recreated your little experiment, Batman and Nightwing finally told me what had been going on. I was so angry, but I know that it was more at myself.” He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, folding his hands together. “I had to go through all the guilt and remorse of you going to the hospital because of something I did all over again. And you could have died.” He swallows thickly. “And I wouldn't have been able to stop it, again.” Pausing, he straightens up a little. “But Bats always has his reason for things like this, and like father like son. I was wrong to forbid them from seeing you, although if they had really wanted to disobey me it's not like it would've been hard.” He chuckles, shaking his head, before sobering. He stares at a crack in the pavement leading up to the house. “They were trying to protect you, and me, and your parents and Bart and Artemis and the whole Team.”

“Uncle Barry, you know that when I was planning that experiment the first time – I really wanted to do it?” Wally says, shrugging. “Even if I was in the hospital for a week or whatever, I think that I probably thought it was worth it. I looked up to you so much and I wanted to be just like you. Still do, I guess.” He leans back on his hands, tilting his head back to look up at the darkening sky. There are stars, but it's nothing like being in the Watchtower. “I guess what I'm trying to say is that if I didn't have your notes, I probably would have done something even stupider than that, if that's possible. Apparently I'm the one who comes up with the dumbest ideas?” He tilts his head towards Barry, who is looking at him with wide eyes. “It's not your fault. It never was.”

Barry stares at him for a few moments before blinking his gaze away and bringing up his hand to his eyes, rubbing at them sheepishly.

“Gee, Kid. Gonna make me cry.” He's smiling though, and he wraps his arm around Wally's shoulders, pulling him in to a playful headlock and actually noogie-ing him like he's a kid or something – Wally tries to squirm his way out, laughing. He releases him and looks back over out to the street, still grinning. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “When did you get so smart?”

 

After Barry releases the Wayne family ban on Wally, he and Dick visit each other frequently, either in Gotham or Keystone. Sometimes these devolve into information sessions, with Wally asking Dick questions so he can actually start trying to piece together the last ten years of his life, and sometimes these turn into regrettable interrogations where Dick asks Wally things that only he would know, obviously to eke out if their plan actually worked.

“What were your last words to Barry?”

“I don't remember! I can't remember!” Wally says, getting up and restraining himself from throwing his chair in frustration. “Why do you think I would know? I don't even know what you're _talking_ about.” He rests his hands on the back of his chair. “It didn't _work,_ okay? All it did was land me a trip to the hospital.” He shakes his head in frustration, fingers tightening around wood of the chair. “We're getting nowhere. I'm out of here.”

“Wally, wait.”

The clouds are starting to break apart, bathing the drips of rain in greying sunlight. He keeps his eyes on the ground, tracing the muddy footprints in the path in front of him. For lack of a better idea, he goes and sits in his car, and it smells like stale cheeseburgers, and wonders when the last time someone used it was. He can't remember why he even bought it, or if he did alone, if he had super speed like everyone says. Why have a car when you can run somewhere before most people can blink?

He stares out across the steering wheel and remembers the feeling he had, as snow suffocated him in the North Pole, as the cold made the heat coming off his body more apparent, as his insides vibrated until he felt like he would turn inside out, when he asked Barry to “just tell her” before the energy was too much to overcome and he was thrust into a world he didn't know anymore.

 

Wally walks his way to Artemis's apartment, tracing his steps from a zeta tube from Keystone with muscle memory that he didn't know he had. When he arrives, he walks by the locked gate and steps into the alleyway, looking at the third window up. He picks up a few pebbles from nearby and starts tossing them, each hitting the window with a sharp tap. After the forth one, the window opens and Artemis sticks her head out--

“Whoever is throwing shit at my window better leave me the fuck alone because I have a loaded crossbow and I'm not afraid to use it,” she says, voice one step above normal speaking volume and ten times more intimidating. She cranes forward a little more and must catch a glance of him, because he can hear a quiet “oh.” He waves, for lack of a better idea, and she gestures for him to climb up the fire escape. He does so with mild difficulty due to also holding a bouquet of flowers and trying his best to hide it before he gets up to the top. Artemis is leaning out the window, her cheek in her hand, as he comes up the ladder to her level.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

“I uh. I got you these.” Wally holds out the flowers to her, and she stares at him dumbly. The first time in five years and he actually remembered Valentine's Day – and he barely even knows who she is. She takes the flowers, a collection of purple hyacinths and gardenias and peonies, and just looks at them while Wally looks anxiously on, hands clasped behind his back and fidgeting. “Um, do you like them?”

“Of course, Wally,” she says, voice softer than he's ever heard it. “They're beautiful.”

“I mean, nothing can compare to you, babe,” he says, trying to let his inner Wall-man out, leaning an elbow against the windowsill, smirking in her direction – his voice cracks about halfway through and he coughs awkwardly into his hand, making Artemis snicker. Coloring pink, he tries to recover. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go out. Tonight. With me.”

Artemis raises an eyebrow at him, and he gulps.

“I mean, with you?” She asks. “I dunno... I might need some convincing.”

But she's already grabbed a coat off her desk chair, leaving the flowers behind as she crawls through the window and descends down the ladder of the fire escape, giving him a “you coming?” look that leaves Wally rendered momentarily dizzy.

They make their way to a nearby zeta tube and transport back to Keystone, largely quiet, Wally fidgeting and Artemis showing an enormous amount of restraint by not making fun of him for being nervous.

Artemis breaks the silence first.

“So.” She looks pointedly at him. “What are the big plans?”

He fumbles for a moment before responding.

“Uh, well, there's this cool place-- I mean I guess it's just sort of cool, in the hills above the city? And you can see the whole valley, and I...” He gulps. “I wanted to show you it.” His eyes wander to the sky, which is fading to a warm purple, and he allows himself a moment to feel like a total chump before looking at her earnestly. “I just wanted to spend time with you,” he admits. When he sees that she is suppressing a smile, he lets himself smile too.

They're quiet for a minute, as they approach Wally's house and get into his car. He flips through radio stations as he starts driving, settling on something quiet, nothing more than background noise to the sound of the rumbling motor and crunching of small rocks under his tires as he turns onto the backroad of the city, up into the deserted hills. They reach a clearing where he finally turns off the car and they sit for a moment, staring out of the windshield.

“Although climbing up the fire escape was very romantic and all, why didn't you just use the door?” Artemis asks.

“I uh...” Wally shuffles his feet against his floor mats, “I didn't know if your mom knew. About me. Being alive?”

“Oh.”

He looks at her, her half-lidded eyes staring down at the dashboard, wringing her hands in her lap. He reaches over and grabs one of her hands and she casts him a glance that could be interpreted as surprised or deadly – he chooses to believe it's the former, running his thumbs over her knuckles.

“C'mon. It's better outside.”

They venture out into the night and sit on top of the car, the sky a swipe of midnight blue, and below them, the city lights a blanket of stars along the horizon. A shooting star falls in the distance and Wally wishes for something indeterminate even to him.

“Um. So...” he starts, very eloquently. He clears his throat. “Artemis.”

She gives him a pointed look and he gulps.

“This is going to probably have sounded better in my head,” he prefaces, holding his hands out in front of him, trying to let himself stall and have some kind of defense for if what he's about to say sounds totally dumb. She's still looking at him, mouth in something that looks like an amused smirk. “I don't know if we can be the same, or whatever,” he says, quietly. “I wish I knew but I don't. But I've started to remember things about you, and about me.” He gestures vaguely, here, and Artemis stares hard at him. He swallows. “About you and me. I know it's different, 'cause you're different, and I don't know a lot of things, but I guess I still want to try.” Wally flushes pink and he clasps his hands together in his lap, giving a nervous laugh. “That probably sounded stupid, huh?”

There's silence for a few moments longer than he would've liked, in which he can't look at Artemis but he can feel her shift next to him, scooting a little closer, her hand going to rest on top of his.

“It sounded fine, Wally.”

He breaks and smiles, although he tries to retain some dignity and hold it in. Turning his head to look at her, he's almost surprised that she's looking at him too. His gaze flits involuntarily to her mouth and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, a tension sweeping through him.

“Can I kiss you?” He breathes, searching her eyes, dark and pupils blown out from the nighttime around them.

“Yeah,” she barely says before they come together, both inhaling sharply at the same time, heat blooming in Wally's torso, settling in his stomach. He can't tell how long they stay like this, hands and lips and shoulders touching, warmth radiating from her skin into his, but however long it was wasn't enough for him when they break. He glances at his watch and it's ten minutes to midnight.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asks, letting his voice sound hopeful. “Go get a drink or something?”

“Or something, huh?” She murmurs back, tongue swiping along the bottom ridges of her teeth. She tilts her head, ponytail swishing to the side. “I think I can think of something we could do.” She looks at him, eyes half-lidded and hazy, and smirks – Wally feels heat rush to his face as he sits, momentarily speechless.

“Yep, got it,” he says hurriedly once he regains the ability to speak, willing his voice not to shake from nerves. “Let's get on that then.”

He hops off the side of the car, a bit of a spring in his step, and rounds the car to open the door for Artemis. As he does so, a wave of unsteadiness overtakes him, a fuzziness in his head and a vibration in his chest, and before he can get to the door, he's plunged into something darker than black.

 

“Is this from the experiment?”

“What did you do?”

“We tried--”

“He'll be okay, he always is.”

 

Wally blinks his eyes open and he's forced to squint against the sterile white of the room he's in. His head is pounding and there's a buzzing in his ears, a low-level vibration running through him like his phone is stuck on vibrate in his pocket.

With some effort, he sits up, stretching to get some stiffness from his muscles. Foggily recollecting that this is the Watchtower med bay, he equally foggily recounts the last events he remembers. He knows he should probably stay put, but he feels so restless. It's the opposite feeling of when he awoke in Wayne Manor a month ago – there he felt exhausted and heavy, and now he almost feels like he could run a marathon, a fountain of energy despite the throbbing of his head.

Well, he reasons with himself that getting out of bed to pace the room couldn't hurt, so he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He pauses and runs his hands over his neck and head, finding a small bump near his forehead and seeing some fading bruises and scratches across his palms. Vaguely wondering how many times he's going to pass out for days, he gets himself to standing, wobbling a bit on feet that feel like they've been asleep. Taking a few careful steps to get the pins and needles feeling out of them, he stretches out his arms and his neck, hearing a few satisfying pops.

Poking his head out of the room, he notices there don't seem to be too many people around, so he picks a direction and starts walking. He doesn't know what he expects to find, or even what he wants to find, but he goes past many closed doors and stairwells and still feels giddy at the fact that he's in space. Distracted by the grandeur of space, by the far-away stars and the rotation of Earth below him, he runs into someone's back.

“Woah, Kid!” It's Barry, in what is probably the most unlikely coincidence that Wally has ever experienced, who turns and holds his hands out in front of him. “Who let you out of the med bay? Did you just wake up?”

“Y...yeah,” Wally replies unsteadily. “I was just feeling really restless, y'know? Like I needed to get rid of this energy pent up inside of me. How long was I out this time?”

“Just a couple days,” Barry tells him, giving him a bit of a look. “C'mon. I want to see something.” He turns and waves Wally forward. He's led to an elevator, down a few floors, and then to a room that's pretty much just a giant track – a room exclusively for the Flash, Wally guesses. “Okay, I want you to run.”

Wally actually laughs.

“Are you kidding?”

“Nope! Go on. Run a lap. And don't half-ass it either.”

Wally looks at him incredulously.

“If you say so,” he mutters under his breath, standing on the line, getting in a runner's starting position. He casts a glance over to Barry. “Gonna tell me when to start, or what?”

“Alright, alright. Ready, set, _go_!”

Wally takes off running at a moderate pace, still feeling like the whole exercise is a little silly, but he does notice – he's definitely starting to run faster than usual. Though, that could definitely be written off as the fact that the last time he remembers running was when he was 13 and, well, puberty does do wonders to physical ability.

“C'mon, pick up the pace here!” He can vaguely hear Barry shouting across the track at him, although it sounds far away. “Do I need to get Bart in here?”

Oh, hell no. Wally grumbles something under his breath and starts going faster, and he's still accelerating, and suddenly he's taken off at a speed he can't even really comprehend, and time seems to slow around him. Every step he takes seems to send electricity through his body, and he's done one, two, three laps in only a few seconds, and then he notices Barry waving at him to stop – he knows the Flash can stop on a dime, so he tries to just do that, but ends up skidding and smacking into a wall at the end of the straightaway.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, falling backwards onto his butt, kicking off his smoldering shoes as Barry jogs over to him, grinning.

“May have to work on your stopping, bud,” Barry says, extending out a hand.

“Thanks, my head hadn't noticed,” Wally says, rubbing his already throbbing head which is now even worse feeling. He takes Barry's hand and helps himself up, leaning his free hand against the wall to steady himself. “It worked,” he says in a low voice. “It actually worked?”

“Glad to have you back in working order, Wally,” Barry says, still holding onto Wally's hand, giving it a little squeeze. “It wasn't the same without you.”

 

Slowly, memories that he thought he lost for good, things that only he could know starting to pop into his mind. Sometimes they take something to trigger them, a question, a smell, a picture in a newspaper and a headline. Sometimes though, he just knows the information and starts to think about it before even realizing that it was something he forgot.

His first time running a timed trial for Barry after his initial stint in the hospital – he ran one mile in 5.2 seconds.

Wally remembers meeting Robin for the first time, and wanting to be just like him even though he had 2 years on him, and seeing his full face for the first time when he was 14 on a rooftop in Gotham.

Thinking that Artemis was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and that he would do anything for her, right before hitting the floor, right before heat rose to his face and his chest from humiliation and anger and regret at every nasty word that fell from his mouth.

He remembers the anguish he felt when he thought he lost her, as he collapsed and screamed into the Arctic snow such as she did five years later, the humiliation after the fact of finding out that it was only a training exercise. Swallowing his pride and begging M'gann to never show Artemis ever how he reacted.

Telling Artemis he loved her for the first time, in the middle of a mission that felt very life-or-death to a 17 year old, where he crashed on top of her to protect her from an explosion that was probably his fault and he held her tight, letting the blast ruin his uniform and create burns that he knew would heal soon enough. He knew he loved her before that, but never had the guts to say it.

Moments of pride, hubris, humiliation, excitement filter through his mind without warning, and it's almost like he's reliving his life through the lens of someone else, but that's okay. It's just enough that he remembers – it's enough.

 

There's a knock, and then a box left on Wally's porch. When he opens it, it's his Kid Flash uniform, and a note written in messy, quick scrawl that reads “this is your's.” He stares out at the darkened street, only illuminated by a few scattered streetlights, even though he knows the person who gave him this is long gone – disappeared in an instant.

It's late, but it's only a matter of minutes before he could be at Joan and Jay's house in Central City. He grabs a coat and runs over, waiting at the door for less than a second when it opens.

Bart stands in the doorway and he puts on a smile.

“Hey, Wall-man!” He says, and Wally gets some kind of satisfaction over having someone else call him that in a way that actually wasn't sarcastic for once. “What's up?”

“You left this at my house,” Wally says, holding the box out to him.

Something wavers on Bart's face, but he corrects it, stepping to the side to let Wally enter the house and closing the door behind him. He waves a dismissive hand.

“Me? Nah! I dunno what you're talking about--”

“Bart. C'mon, seriously?”

Bart's smile fades – a pained expression takes its place – and he sighs.

“It's your's, okay? You've got your speed back, so take it.” He goes and sits forlornly on the couch, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands. “I don't want it.”

“What about you?” Wally asks, crossing the room, sitting on the coffee table across from Bart and setting the box down. “If I go back to being Kid Flash, what does that make you?”

“I'm fine just being Impulse,” Bart answers quickly. “You're the real Kid Flash and... I'm tired of feeling like a fraud.”

“Bart, I gave this to you for a reason.” Wally looks at him very seriously, and puts a hand on his shoulder. Bart forces himself to look up at him through burning eyes. “I'm out of the game, for real. I _want_ you to be Kid Flash. I'm proud of you for taking up the mantle when I was gone.” He smiles, and Bart kind of smiles back. “I'll still be around, y'know, for emergencies. If you ever need another speedster to save your sorry butt, you know who to call.”

Bart jumps forward, wrapping his arms around Wally's torso – even sitting down, he can tell that Bart is taller than he remembers. He must've shot up like a weed in the 18 months he was going, and he's as wiry as ever. Wally brings his hands up to rest on his back and pats him.

“Thank you, Wally,” he says through hiccuping breaths. “I missed you.”

 

“Heard you rejoined the Team.”

Wally enters Dick's room as he speaks, and he turns, somehow not at all surprised by his sudden arrival.

“Yeah,” Dick confirms, “It was time.” He pauses momentarily and when he speaks again, he sounds almost a little hopeful. “What about you?”

“Nah, I don't think so,” Wally says bluntly, shrugging. He sits down on the bed, leaning his weight back on his hands and examining Dick's expression, which has shifted almost imperceptibly. “C'mon Rob, don't look so sad about it. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

“Not to be argumentative, but you did forget for awhile there,” he counters warily.

“Yeah, but I remember now. How could I not, dude?” Wally grins at Dick. “I can't believe I didn't even know you were my best friend.”

Dick shrugs, half-smiling.

“I know, I'm pretty unforgettable. Just goes to show how messed up you were when you came out the other side.”

“Yeah,” Wally laughs. He's quiet for a moment, looking towards the ground. “Y'know, I don't think I ever thanked you. For finding me and helping me get my powers back. And my memories. And everything else before this, too.”

Dick stays quiet, tucking his hands into his pockets and turning to look out the window, staring out at a point far beyond the horizon. Wally joins him, and they don't talk for awhile, letting the sounds of a Gotham far away from Wayne Manor fill in some gaps. The sun sinks beyond the horizon, and he lets himself actually be grateful for the time he spent without his powers, if only so he could remember what it feels like to experience time normally – to watch a sunset and be silent for moments at a time without it feeling like years.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he looks over to see Dick, smiling at him, a gentle kind of smile with a meaning that is indeterminate to him.

“You know I'd do anything for you, KF.”

 

Wally uses the front door now when he goes to Artemis's apartment. She's taken some time off from superheroing for the time being – a leave of absence that no one objected to, knowing the circumstances.

“Right as Dick rejoined the Team and everything,” Wally laughs. “He's going to be so disappointed.”

“I need to figure out who I am again,” Artemis says, honest sounding. She chews on her bottom lip. “Now that you're back, I need to distinguish between Artemis and Tigress.”

Wally takes a look at her and shifts closer, pulling her in with an arm around her shoulders. With his free hand, he tilts her chin up to look her in the eyes.

“You can be both, y'know. They're both you and that's fine by me.”

As they grow tired, heads resting on shoulders and lights filtering through the windows dimming to nothing, Wally runs a hand through Artemis's hair.

“I remembered something today,” he says.

“Hm?” She murmurs, sounding far away. He swallows.

“Yeah, I remembered... I remembered the first time that I realized I was stupid in love with you.”

She looks at him, suddenly seeming more awake.

“Yeah? And when was that?” She asks, a little sarcastic sounding.

“Remember in Bialya? When we lost our memories?” He starts, and she gives a slight nod. “Remember that thing you said about being me being your ninja boyfriend?” He laughs, and she does too, a harmless little laugh that she covers with her hand, mildly embarrassed. “Even after M'gann restored our memories and I acted like I couldn't stand you again, I would think about you saying that I was your ninja boyfriend and want it to be real.” He colors red around his ears and chews on the inside of his cheek.

“It ended up that way, didn't it?” She says, voice softening with fatigue again, bringing her hand up to his cheek. She kisses him, smiling as she draws back. Her dark eyes search his. “You're not a ninja though.”

“You don't think so?” He asks, feigning hurt.

“Not even close, babe.”

She settles in again, leaning her head against his shoulder, hand resting on his chest, and eyes fluttering closed. Pressing a kiss onto the top of her head, he is relieved, now more than ever, that he isn't dead.

 

**Author's Note:**

> FAM this fic has been a long time coming. i started this fic literally almost exactly 2 years ago and finally finished it! it went through a lot of rewrites and pov changes and reworkings before i finally got it to this point (i literally have 20 pages of deleted scenes/old versions of these scenes in my document). since we're actually getting a s3 i wanted to get this out before it all is just immediately proven to be wrong. this is also the longest fanfic i have ever written! we did it fam. 
> 
> thanks for reading!   
> tumblr is ivankarelin.tumblr.com


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